“Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. There was hope for me then. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. As he understood it, folks saw in two or three days all there was to see of Canton. Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain. Even our coarseness. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one.
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